Remember
by Charming Visions
Summary: RENT fic. Ultimatly five chapterseach one a different characters POV regarding their friend's deaths. I think it's different, and that you'll enjoy it. So give it a shot, and review if you like it or hate it. New Chapter upone more to go.
1. Collins

**Remember**

Disclaimer: I do not own RENT, Jonathen Larson came up with the wonderful play, DreamWorks produced the CD and I am just going along for the ride.

Summary: Takes five point of views: Collins, Mimi, Roger, Mark, and Maureen. There will only be five chapters. In this small series of one-shots, each character will be reflecting on their deceased friends and lost lovers in that order. It's kind of tricky to explain, but I have an awesome idea and I think you just may like it. This first one will begin with Collins.

* * *

It was winter in New York City, and the wind alone left his blood cold and his muscles frozen. He pulled his coat tighter around his neck as he ducked his head. The musky scent immediately filled his nostrils and he felt his heart break. It was he who had given him this coat in the first place. _Live in my house…I'll be your shelter. _His voice echoed through his ears as he mouthed the words. Tears burned in his eyes as he swallowed hard. He was gone, and he felt…alone.

He entered the cemetery and walked straight to his freshly dug grave. It had only been a few days since his death but it was obvious that it was tearing everything apart. _I can't believe he's gone. I can't believe you're going. I can't believe this family must die. _He had watched Roger grow over the weeks with Mimi. He had seen him smile like he hadn't smiled since April. Yet after New Years he had seen that shadow return. He had seen Roger withdraw and return to his own reality where nothing and no one could harm him. No one had died in his mind, and no one was going to die. Collins sniffed as Mimi's eyes reflected in his mind. Dark brown eyes that danced with laughter and vivacity unless Roger turned on her. It was then that anger replaced that laughter. He knew she wanted him to understand, but he knew Roger wouldn't understand, he could never understand. So now Roger was doing what Roger always did. He was retreating, only this time it was to Santa Fe. Collins squatted by his grave and stared at the grave plate. **Angel Dumott Shunard. **It was only a few days ago that he was holding him tightly, Angel had turned away from his dressed garb and had resorted to sporting a hospital gown. He knew he should feel peace that Angel had moved on, it was just another journey for him. But something tugged at his heart. Nothing would ever be the same. Angel had changed them all too much.

If Roger's departure and Mimi's weakness wasn't enough to kill their family. The only true family Collins had ever known. Maureen and Joanne were enough. Collins gripped his head. Couldn't those two ever stop! _Angel taught us to believe in love, I can't believe you disagree…_Not a day passed when those two argued themselves blue, break up, and return to each other. Collins loved the two women enough and he knew that one day Joanne would break it off permanently, and when that day came, he would lose one or both of the women. Collins stood up and wiped the dirt off on his jeans. Looking around, he saw a few other couples walking around graves, black tears lining their faces. Collins touched his cheek and realized that he was crying. Funny how much you don't-how much you can't notice when your heart is lying before you, bleeding. Collins kissed the grave and turned around, heading for the exit. He tried to think of something that would bring a sense of contentment, but he couldn't be content in a world where no one excepted him, all of him. So he thought of Mark. And increased his pace.

He wasn't worried about Mark, except for the crushing reality that his death would seal the end of the family and Mark, sweet quirky Mark, would be left to face New York alone. Collins stopped to look around and almost stumbled onto the frozen sidewalk. In front of him stood Angel's tree. He clinched his fists and walked toward to amazing work of art that described Angel completely. Inventive, independent, and altogether beautiful. He stared hard at the tree, praying for it to light up. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

_So with a thousand sweet kisses, if you're cold and you're lonely. With a thousand sweet kisses, you've got one nickel only. With a thousand sweet kisses, when you're worn out and tired. With a thousand sweet kisses, when your heart has expired. _

Their melodic voices charged the air around him and he felt his shoulders drop and a ghostly smile touch his lips. Angel was singing to him in his mind-Her hair in its black bob, her Santa dress tinged with green, her black and white stockings and high heels. But what completed her was her gentle eyes and encouraging smile. It was almost as if she was saying "It's okay Collins, it's not bad at all. You'll see. You'll be seeing soon." She blew him a kiss and waved cheerfully and just as she was there, she was gone. Collins opened his eyes and groped around, searching for her, waiting for her to reappear. The minutes passed, and Collins settled that she had returned. He glanced back up at her tree and hummed softly before whispering to the above:

"Oh Lover, I'll cover you…"

A/N: I borrowed lyrics from "Goodbye Love" and "I'll Cover You" both of which are part of RENT lyrics, thus written by Larson.

**REVIEW**


	2. Mimi

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT or any characters, lyrics borrowed, or plot references. They belong to Jonathan Larson

Enjoy.

**MIMI**

Winter had long passed on the dirtied streets of New York City, home of starving artists, hundreds of homeless, and business executives. She missed the winter; she missed the seemingly innocent picture of snow on the sidewalks below. She missed the dirt that seemed to reveal itself so openly during winter's harsh months. Now that it was spring, the dirt could hide. Fucking cowards. Mimi pulled her hair up into a ponytail and looked at her deteriorating complexion in the mirror. She leaned in and began to poke and the sagging skin beneath her eyes. She had lost twenty-pounds so far. AIDS was really a wonderful diet. Groaning at the pain that began to build behind her eyes and in her lungs, Mimi gripped the countertop until the tremors passed. They always did, nowadays they just took longer. Her eyes welled up but one minute passed, then two, and the pain was gone. She popped her AZT and a few prescribed pain pills. It was useless now though, she always knew it eventually would be.

Walking out of the bedroom she stopped to look at the bed she shared with Roger. Rolled over on his side Roger was sound asleep. Mimi smiled softly at him, she always loved to watch Roger sleep. Gently she walked over to him and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. Roger stirred. He opened his right eye and looked up at Mimi. Grinning he asked, "Going somewhere?" Her smile reappeared. "I'll be back in an hour or so." Roger looked up at her and saw something flash in her brown eyes. "Want me to join?" He asked cautiously. Mimi shook her head. "Not this time."

Roger nodded and soon fell back asleep. Mimi kissed him once more and closed their bedroom door behind her as she left. In the den she saw the glow of television screens and she snickered. Mark was up. She walked over and tapped on the door frame. Mark's thick glasses looked up at her. He eyed and her and waved her in. "What's up?" Mimi shrugged, "Going out for a bit. Probably to the park. Need to think some things over."

Mark understood, so he simply nodded in response. "I think I've finally finished Collin's montage." Mimi looked relieved. "Is it any good?" She asked him. Mark grinned at her playful tone. "I'll let you decide once I'm done." He replied. Mimi nodded, "I'm sure it will be Marky, Angel's was beautiful." Mark looked up at Mimi and she saw the pain that continued to build behind the blue depths. She couldn't take it anymore. She cleared her throat.

"I'll be back in a while Mark."

"Does Roger know you're heading out?"

Mimi cocked her head to the side, "Of course, I told him."

Mark nodded. "Later then."

"Bye." Mimi whispered. She turned around and left the apartment. Shoving her hands into the jacket she borrowed from Roger she jogged down the steps and out of the dumpy building that littered Avenue B. Alphabet City was just a joke. She looked up at the sun that rose over the city and breathed in the polluted scent of New York. Sadly enough, she knew she'd miss it. She would miss a lot once she left.

Death had plagued her mind for a few weeks. I guess most people with a terminal illness finally know when to give up and let go. Mimi had reached that point. She wondered if it would be painful. She wondered if Angel or Collins's death had been painful. Tears burned behind her eyes as she thought about them. Angel's death had changed everything. At first it seemed to tear everything apart, inevitably it brought everyone back together. She had known Angel through life-support. _Life support is for people coping with life, you don't have to stay too long…_ It was in life support that Mimi had learned to cope with the inevitable, and to embrace the days she had, instead of cowering of the day that lay ahead.

Mimi finally reached her destination. The City Park. Since Collin's death, she and Roger had found a solace in the park benches and the innocent sing-song voices of the children that played there. Mimi shook her head, she hoped they never had to face reality. Reality was cold and calculating, she should know, it had bitch slapped her onto her ass. She sat down and stared through her fingers and knees at the gravel beneath her. Angel filled her mind once more. She choked back a laugh as she remembered that Angel always had her word. And it was always right. She remembered Angel's memorial:

_Angel was one of my closest friends. It's right that it's Halloween, _

_because it was her favorite holiday. I knew we'd hit it off from _

_the moment we met. That skin head was bothering her, and she said _

_she was more of a man than he'd ever be, and more of a woman than _

_he'd ever get..._

Mimi sobbed into her hand. Angel's funeral had been one of the toughest things she had ever done in her life. The second-saying goodbye to Roger last Christmas Eve. She leaned back into the bench, she hated saying goodbye the first time, she had no idea how she would do it again. She covered her face with her hands.

Collin's funeral had been a little bit easier. A little. Collins was the wisest man she had ever known. True she was only twenty-one, but most girls tend to think that their daddies are pretty damn wise. Collins took it all though. He was smart, a genius by all means, but misunderstood by the technologically advanced Americans by every means. _I teach Computer Age Philosophy, but my students would rather watch TV…_Collins memorial had been just as heartfelt as Angel's had been. Mimi understood how painful Angel's death had been to Collins. That was Mimi's biggest problem, she understood emotions perfectly. Collins had died a few days after the New Year. "Happy New Year…" she sang softly. Mimi felt the tears fall, she slowly ran her fingers under her eyes and saw the blackened tears. Eyeliner would be in rivers down her face by the time she returned to the loft.

Gradually she stood up and waited for the blood to reach all muscles before she began to walk further into the park. A few late morning joggers passed her, and Mimi smiled her greetings. She tried to hide from the one person that would have her on her knees in pain, instead she thought about Maureen and Joanne. Things had quieted down considerably between the two. They had finally gotten it. Mimi did a silent victory dance in her mind. Dance…

God how she missed dancing. A few months ago the manager had come up to her. "Mimi love, you're just too weak to continue dancing. Besides, you look sick now. You just don't pay as much as you used to." Mimi didn't look at her manager in anger. She had understood. He hadn't meant to be cruel, but money was money and healthy bodies brought that in. Despite her efforts to maintain a confident posture, her eyes had teared up as she left the club forever. It was a living. It promised a sense of normalcy, however warped that seemed.

She ducked her head and memories of Mark's strong demeanor filled her. Grinning she thought fondly of Marky. Her Marky. He had so often stood up to Roger for her. When Roger was determined to leave for Santa Fe, he had seen right through it. Even told Roger so. _Mimi still loves Roger, is Roger really jealous, or afraid that Mimi's weak? _He had desperately told Roger, hoping that Roger would take the bate. He relented that Mimi looked pale, but in the end, Roger had run off.

That moment was the breaking point for Mimi. Despite their arguments, despite her fling with Benny, she had hoped that she and Roger would be able to smooth things over. Eventually they had, but it had taken months, months that took their toll on Mimi. After Roger left, Benny had offered to pay to send her to Rehab, at first she accepted. Eventually fear set in and she ran off. She began to live on the streets and off people's wasteful habits of dumping food. She quit drugs the hard way, and often found herself in alleys on all fours sweating profusely and screaming endlessly. No one ever answered her calls. Fall eventually turned to winter, and with the bare trees came to the depletion of her immune system. On Christmas Eve she huddled on a bench shivering for the warmth that refused to come. That's when Maureen and Joanne had shown up. They carried her back to the loft, and Mimi saw Roger for the first time in months. Even in her dire state, his eyes still made her knees weak. She had told him goodbye that night._ I should tell you I love you-_ Afterwards the world around her grew dim, and only Roger's voice remained.

She awoke that night in Roger's arms and since then they had been inseparable. They still argued, Roger was still scared shitless, and Mimi was still as crazy as ever. They were opposites, Mimi knew it. She loved him all the same. She pushed the heel of her hand into her mouth. She didn't want to leave him. She didn't want him to live through another death, another Mimi death. Tears flowed freely down her paled complexion. He knew she was soon to die. But how do you cope with that? You don't. You pretend. He pretended that she was fine, and Mimi pretended that the fear in his eyes didn't exist. It was just the two of them, it would always be the two of them. She tried her hardest to divert her memories to something calmer to her family to the world around her. Roger plagued her mind though. She had to do it. Tonight. God give her courage.

She walked back to the loft willing the tears to dry, at least for now. She couldn't go upstairs a mess, it would send him into a panic. Sweet Roger. Once she finally reached the building she looked up at their loft and the empty lot beside it. Benny's business had yet to build anything. Sighing she looked up. No day but today, right?

A/N: A bit longer than Collins's entry, but they'll get longer as the point of views change. I hope you enjoyed it. If so, I have a few other stories you may just enjoy.

And I'm Alone- my first Mark one-shot fic.

For Once I didn't disengage- My first Roger one-shot fic

Will I Wake Tomorrow- my first Mimi one-shot fic (all three are first person point of views)

And my first multi-chapter Rent fic- Give into Love.

Remember (hah no pun intended) that there will be three more chapters with three different leading characters.

REVIEW please, I just like to know if you've enjoyed it or would like to critize it.


	3. Roger

Disclaimer: I don't own Rent or any of its characters. I've borrowed some lyrics from the RENT….I've done that with every chapter.

A/N: Replies to reviewers below. I'm back again with Roger's chapter. Longest one yet. I hope you enjoy-I absolutely loved the reviews. You guys are amazing. **W**elcome back the-frauline.

**Roger**

Fall. He hated the fall. Something about the crisp air and angry leaves left him feeling despondent. Roger sat up in the queen sized bed and looked through the open blinds at the darkening city. He spent most of his days like this, in bed. He didn't necessarily like the isolation, but he was growing steadily weaker. His muscles would freeze, his heart would start pounding, and he would be grasping for breath after a few short steps to the kitchen. Death blew.

It had been a year since Mimi's death. Two years since Collins, and two and a half since Angel's. The time had died away quickly leaving behind himself, Mark, and Maureen. Soon his death would seal the end of the AIDS victims in the loft high above Avenue B. Roger wanted it desperately.

In all dying soliloquies when the fading lover speaks to the man she loves-she tells him one thing. _Live._ Roger had tried for a while. He had tried to create a normal routine but when he passed out during a show, all efforts had collapsed with him. He didn't want to return to the dark days that followed April's startling death, Mimi would have screamed at him for wasting his last days. So now he spent most of his days in bed, staring at the guitar that had found him his only glory, and through the window that seemed to be his only form of life.

Roger ran a hand through his thin hair and down to grasp the nape of his neck. A cough escaped his lips followed by another and then another and another until finally Mark ran in. Once Roger had calmed down he smiled at Mark. "False alarm." He joked softly. Mark looked at him as if he were mad.

"You've had a lot of those lately Roger."

"Stop your worrying, I'm fine."

Mark snorted, "Yeah yeah. What are your plans for the night?"

"Not this bed."

Mark raised an eyebrow, "Goin' for a walk?" Roger nodded in response. "Where to?"

Roger shrugged his shoulders, "Just a walk."

"Be careful."

"Always Mark. Always." Roger replied. Mark nodded and headed out of Roger's room. A closing door let Roger know that he was back in his studio. Always working on some sort of film. Roger smiled at the image of his awkward friend. Groaning Roger ran a hand through his wispy blonde hair and placed his feet on the floor. He took a breath and stood up. One step. Then two. He seemed alright. Life granted him a good day. There were so few of them lately. Walking over to the makeshift closet he pulled out a pair of jeans and an old long sleeved blue shirt. Pulling the jeans on over his white boxers and the shirt of his significantly thin torso, he ran a hand through his hair once more. A vain attempt at taming it. It was something he did often now. He pulled out an old pair of tennis shoes and sat on the bed as he pulled them on. His eyes caught a glimpse of the Fender in the corner. He sighed and placed his right elbow on his knee and his head in his palm. Familiar tunes echoed through his ears. _One song, glory, one song before I go one song to leave behind. Find one song, one last refrain. Glory from the pretty boy front man, who wasted opportunity. _

Well he had found his song. He had found his legacy. After a year of breaking down. After a year of standing still, of feigning blindness, of holding on to an angry past. After a year of spit-shit, he had finally found his song. And that same year he had almost lost his muse after already losing his truth. _Time flies…time dies. _He sang emptily. It was a feeling he longed for. Emptiness. He had always fallen hard and felt too much according to Mark. He stood up and forcefully diverted his gaze to his open bedroom door. He grabbed his old black leather jacket and headed to the loft exit. He wondered how many times he would leave this loft. He wondered how many times he would enter it again. He jogged down the steps and found that he actually missed the Squeegee man that always took a leak on the stairs. The halls no longer smelled of body odor and urine, instead they smelled of antiseptic. Thanks Benny.

Benny…he had changed so dynamically since his marriage and divorce to Alison. Once a kind man with big dreams he turned into a U.S Grade A asshole. Mimi had changed him, Angel's death had sealed it. He suddenly became…gentler again. He still ran his business with a vengeance, but he let the homeless sit on his car any day now. Roger reached the exit to the building…the graffiti had been removed. Pity. Roger always admired graffiti artists, something about the elementary design was deeper than most of Monet's works or Mozart's symphonies. He pushed open the door and faltered at the step. The fall air was always hard on his lungs, and the season was depressing as was. It was a simple transition between summer and winter. Between life and death. He was in fall.

He turned left away from the building and still vacant lot. So many times he had wanted to leave since Mimi's death. A stupid voice always argued that he would be running away, but what the hell? He had done it once. Running away aka cowardice wasn't the reason he stayed though. He stayed because he knew he wouldn't find peace. He'd only hurt Mark again. Another stubborn attempt like the one he had made when he left for Santa Fe.

Roger had accused Mark of hiding. _From facing your failure, from facing your loneliness, from facing the fact that you live a lie. You're always preaching not to be numb when that's how you survive. You pretend to create and observe when you really detach from feeling alive._

Mark's next words had left an impact on him over the following weeks in Santa Fe. _Perhaps because I'm the one of us to survive! _

_You know, for someone who's always been let down, who's heading out of town? _He had yelled in a final attempt to make Roger stay. Roger had only yelled in return:

_For someone who longs for a community of his own, who's with his camera, alone?_ Both had realized the other was correct, both were stubborn as hell in their stances. But Mark knew best, Mark always knew best.

That's why he didn't run away. He'd only come home a week later banging on the door, guitar on back. Except this time he'd be on hands and knees. He had found what he wanted. No use in running.

Roger walked down the streets. He caught a small glimpse at the formidable angry figure. The Man. The one who had practically torn them apart. Them. Mimi and him. Tears burned in his eyes. Roger only shoved his hands in his pockets. The Man waved at Roger. Roger resisted the urge to flick the bastard off. He looked over and saw the pathetic line of junkies. He saw a ghost of himself and April in the back of the line. Roger turned his head to the sidewalk ahead of him. He had done his share of grieving over April. Sometimes she wouldn't let go, other times she never existed. Mimi's death was still too new and raw, he believed he'd never feel that with her.

A couple passed him on the sidewalk. Roger's head shot up. Collins. He turned to follow the couple and then felt an idiot for doing so. Collins was dead too. He had been at the funeral. He didn't look the same. Collins thrived in life. He thrived in preaching **Actual Reality**, he thrived in Angel. Once Angel had died, the spark in Collins's eye died. He eventually learned to breath again. But his eyes were never the same.

_Your eyes…as we said our goodbyes-can't get them out of my mind. And I find that I can't hide from your eyes…._

Roger was the first to understand a person and that was because of one thing. He could read them easily. He saw past their flawed facades. Past their acts and dress codes. He saw them for them. He saw their eyes. He had fallen for Mimi when he saw the life in hers despite the disease.

Roger kicked at a crack and sniffed. Life had failed him miserably. Life had given him AIDS, had given him a girlfriend that decided death was more friendly than a life waiting for death, had killed Angel and Collins and Mimi and now him. The last of the AIDS victims. Wahoo. He twirled a finger to mark the sarcasm. The only thing that mattered now was Mark.

Roger never understood how he put up with so much. But Mark was the spirit of them all. He had tried to keep them together after Angel died and Roger had run. He had tried to hold fast to his friends. He had tried to understand their pain. He had taped it all. In the end he would only be left with his tapes. Roger preferred his future. Looking up he saw The Life Café.

He remembered their first Christmas Eve together fondly. What a mess that had been. The waiter looked as if he were about to have a heart attack. Benny had looked like he wanted to die with his father in-law looking at the people as if they were insane. Maureen loved screwing with Mr. Grey by locking lips with Joanne and of course mooning the entire café. VIVA MAUREEN'S ASS.

Chuckling Roger kept walking. He would get Mark to take him there one day. Maureen and Joanne would come too. Out of eight, only four remained. One little Indian…two little Indians…three little Indians…and one more down. Looking to his right he saw the park and paused. The Park was his and Mimi's spot. They would go and just be…she said she favored it because of its scenery. He knew it was because it had helped led her home. _She was huddled in the park, in the dark, and she was freezing…and begged to come here._ Roger's hands fisted. He had almost lost her that night. That night he would have died right with her. Angel had sent her home though. Not once did Roger regret the time they had together. He had embraced it. Embraced her wholly for the first time.

Her funeral had come to mind. Roger ran across the street and sat against the gate's railing. He folded himself and stared at his knees. The tears were falling, he didn't try to stop them. They had been expecting her death. Roger had been fairly healthy at the time, but Mimi was weak. The last week he had given her the bed, she was restless at night. Roger didn't want her bruised more than she already was. So he pulled a sleeping bag into the room and slept by the bed. He didn't complain, and she didn't ask. He would simply kiss her goodnight, and she would fall asleep smiling. That's how she died…smiling. She was content. The night she died she had reached for his hand, and she fell asleep holding it. He didn't let go. He simply brushed his lips over her knuckles and whispered "Good night."

"I love you Roger." She replied.

"And I love you Mimi Marquez." She smiled and fell into the deepest sleep. The next morning he knew she was gone before opening his eyes. He called for Mark, but by the time Mark had groggily run in Roger was on his knees sobbing. He looked at Mark helplessly and Mark walked over to Mimi. For the first time in years Mark hugged Roger. For the first time in years, Roger cried on Mark's shoulder. The funeral could have been more than anyone could have wanted. Once everyone had departed, Roger had sat by her freshly dug grave.

"One more time Mimi-just for you-always for you.

_Your eyes,_

_as we said our goodbyes, _

_can't get them out of my mind,_

_and I find that I can't hide from…_

_Your eyes,_

_the ones that took me by surprise,_

_the night you came into my life._

_Where there's moonlight_

_I see your eyes._

_How'd I let you slip away_

_when I'm longing so to hold you?_

_Now I'd die for one more day_

'_cause there's something I should have told you,_

_yes there's something I should have told you._

_When I looked into your eyes._

_Why does distance make us wise?_

_You were the song all along_

_and before this song dies…_

_I should tell you I should tell you_

_I have always loved you._

_You can see it in my eyes._

Roger then dropped his fingers and stared at the grave covered in roses and lilies. At the hundreds of other graves. In the end this is what it came to. A name in the dirt. Roger had searched for the one song to bring him glory. Instead he found the one song to bring him life.

The present snapped back into place and Roger ran his hands over his wet face. A concerned woman looked down at him. "Hey man-you alright?" Roger looked up at the woman and shook his head. She smiled softly and began to walk away. Then it clicked. Roger called after her:

"Don't I know you from somewhere?"

The woman looked back. "I don't think so."

Roger stood up at stared down at the short black woman. Of course he did. She was cleaned up now, but she would walk the streets in a black garbage bag with a handful of department store bags. "Yeah-yeah I do. You used to walk around the streets with bags."

The woman laughed. "Yeah…things are different now. Welcome to the year of the end." _If only she knew._ Roger thought. "You were friends with camera-boy weren't you?" She asked. Roger grinned sheepishly. "Things have changed." She whistled. Roger shoved his hands into his pockets. "You take care now honey." She then turned and walked away. Roger nodded. _You take care now…_

Roger turned back to the loft. He reached the building. He walked up the steps longing for just a moment that life would return to normalcy. He opened the door. He waved to Mark. "Good night" He called to Mark. Mark smiled at him. "Night Roger." Roger walked back to his bedroom. Stripped back to his white boxers. He climbed intobed and looked at the bedside table at the picture of Mimi and him. _Goodbye love…goodbye love…goodbye love…hello disease._ He took one last look out the city window at the deceptive sparkling New York City lights and fell into that deepest sleep.

A/N: Roger's chapter is done…review please and let me know what you thought- because I honestly don't know if it was that good. I can't wait for Mark's chapter.

**To my reviewers so far…**

Angelina

The-fraulein

Harper's Pixie

Bway Diva

Rentjunkie

And my first reviewer rawrful

**Thank you so very much. I'm glad what I write affects you; in all honesty I want it to. I write to draw emotion from readers-whether it be anger, happiness, or sadness. I want my readers to connect with the story whether it be through tears, smiles, hatred, or empathy. I want you to walk away feeling something. Thank you for letting me know that I have succeeded. I love to write, but I don't want to write something that ends with no reaction. Thank you SO MUCH for taking the time to review but more importantly to read and by doing so…to feel. I feel as if I accomplished something, and I think I have. You are wonderful and remember:**

**No day but today.**


	4. Mark

**Mark**

A/N: Here is the installment of Mark. I know it is delayed, there is a reason for it besides my vacation. Mark is my favorite character-therefore I take great care in writing about this particular man. He is my dream. I hope I did him justice. I went through several drafts to create as close as I could get to of perfection. Please REVIEW. I didn't get many last time-it made me sad.

_December 24th, eight pm Eastern Standard time. From here on in there's no one left to shoot…_

The old sing-song chorus tumbled from Mark's lips silently, defiantly, as he watched the tv screens in the make-shift office. The faces of Roger, Mimi, Collins, and Angel danced flamboyantly before him. Images of his closest confidants smiled back almost mockingly. The point that all of them were dead now barked at him. Angel had been the first, Collins had followed his lover months later. Mimi eventually came to grips with the crashing reality and Roger had too said goodbye. A group that was once so alive and determined now remained only of Mark and Maureen. Instead of turning to her however, Mark buried his tears within his own walls-and watched the only living remains. Video-taped memories.

Mark leaned his elbows on the desk as he leaned forward to the screen. His nose barely brushed the surface. Nothing would put him into the picture…that chance had wasted away before his eyes. He placed his head into his hands trying to push away the burning sensation that tightened his jaw and moistened his cheeks.

_Why am I the witness, and when I capture it on film will it mean that it's the end and I'm alone…?_

It had been a question he had battled internally over for the answer, and now he had it. He had captured every bit of it on film, from beginning of friendship to end. He was alone, isolated. He had secluded himself then…now he had no choice.

_For someone who longs for a community of his own, who's with his camera…ALONE!_

Roger had screamed at him once angrily and truthfully. Mark had longed for a world of his making, but he hadn't gotten it then and the reality didn't matter now. He was foolish enough to wait until the end. Roger's death had sealed it. Fall had finally killed Roger-both knew that it would. Roger hated the fall, now Mark hated it too.

Mark looked back to the screen, his hands falling to cover his nose and mouth. "How did we get here…how the hell?" He whispered. The images continued to dance and Mark watched the movements. The short-film finally ended and Mark realized he wasn't in it, just like he wasn't in the last…or the one before that. Twenty tapes in all, and he had only made a small cameo in one. "God I'm pathetic!" Mark angrily spat as he pushed away from the desk. He had been making these films as small tributes and by doing so had thrown him into a volatile emotion. Self-loathing. Standing up, he walked to the kitchen despite the cramp in his left leg. He opened a cupboard and hung his head. Full. He moved to the second. Full too. Eyes wide he moved to the refrigerator and freezer, both full. It was ironic and stupid. He should have welcomed all of it, instead he wished it to all disappear. It would match his current state. It was winter and Mark had learned that no matter how long he waited till he went back to the convenience store-his cabinets were never as empty as they were with Collins, Roger, Mimi, and Angel. Mark slammed a cabinet door shut and walked out of the kitchen and to the fire escape.

Opening the window, Mark crawled out and sat on the iron bars. He looked down at the streets. Hundreds of cars passed by. He tried counting…one…two…three…fuck it. Moving his eyes from the streets to the skyline he looked at New York's neon. This was the only part of New York he loved completely. It almost washed away New York's dirt, the lights. Almost washed away the greed, the indifference, the hatred. That was New York's dirt. It wasn't the disease, or the obscene culture, or the people, nor was it the lifestyles. The threat to New York wasn't AIDS, homosexuality, heterosexuality, or poverty, like many claimed. Many…Mark thought about the "many." The "many" had never set foot out of suburbia. The "many" couldn't care for shit to meet the underclass. It was about perfection to them. This was perfection to Mark.

Voices called out from the streets and Mark glanced down. A small smile reached his lips as he looked down at a recently acquainted Drag Queen walked with his…her boyfriend. She looked up and for a moment the face was Angel.

_...and then there was that time that he walked up _

_to this group of tourists... and, they were petrified, because, _

_a) they were obviously lost, and b) they had probably_

_never spoken to a drag queen before in their lives...and he.._

_.she just offered to escort them out of Alphabet City, and then _

_she let them take a picture with her, and then_

_she said she'd help 'em find the Circle Line..._

Angel winked and the face returned as the two walked away. Mark shook his head to clear the images. Suddenly Mark felt cold. A billboard caught his eye. It read: **KNOW HIV/AIDS. **The mournful song of that one life support meeting he had attended replaced the car horns of below. It was the only time, well other than Angel's funeral, that Mark had seen Collins vulnerable. Angel's death had shaken him but Collins' death had made screamed what Mark had desperately tried to avoid. He would survive. Collins' rich face grinned at him. Mark shook his head. He was going mad.

He pulled his jacket around him even more tightly as he stood up and walked back into the loft. His eyes fell to a picture of Mimi and Roger, Mark picked it up and ran his thumb over the immobile print. Mimi's death had been the only sweet one. She deserved it. Roger's had been…was still hard. He sank down onto the floor and dropped the frame beside him.

Roger had been with Mark since day one in the city. Mark had cleaned up April's mess, Roger had cleaned up Mark's mess. Mark clutched his roots and swallowed a sob. The wound was still too new and raw for him to think about. The world he had once known was gone…dead and now Mark sat in his loft, alone. He had survived, but he wished he had gone too. The memories were drowning him, and he had no desire to claw his way back to the surface anymore. Mark had folded, and now he had fallen into himself. What was the point of surviving if you felt as though you were dying? The dam finally broke and Mark cried, he never noticed the knocking on the door nor did he notice the opening of it. He only felt a hand clutch his shoulder and he only felt his head lean into a shoulder.

…Maureen did her best to soothe the broken man before her.

A/N: Not impressed with it, I'll probably re-write it and post but I'd thought I'd let all of you take a gander. REVIEW. please.

Thank you-Mari, DancingstarofOZ and starsinthesky for your reviews.


End file.
